Story : After the service
Back to Marcus and the manor A Plan :April 19 1220 Warren moved out of the small church with the mass of other villagers, glad that he decided to attend the service today. It was clear that their arrival had made an impact in the hamlet, and not the best kind of impact to have. He knew this this information would have to be passed on to Phaedrus, and soon, but he had no idea where to even begin looking for him. He knew, though, that as long as he could find one of the mages, like Marcus, he could find all of them. And Marcus had heard the same announcement that he had. He would have to track down the monk later today, or perhaps on the morrow, and discuss these developments. Brother Marcus was doing something right though, for him to be so ingratiated to the community that he be permitted to assist in leading the service like that...of course, that could just be the cloth, but Warren suspected it was more personal than professional. He thought that perhaps it was time for him to do the same. The real action seemed to be in the either the archbishops castle or the manor castle. And the only way to find out what was really happening in a place like that was to get to know the staff. Over the next couple days, Warren decided, he'd start to snuggle up to a maid or two from the castellan's estate. Today, though - was a day of rest, and he would make no progress on that front, so he decided to see if he could get Marcus away for an hour or so after he came out. So, as the majority of the crowd filed past him, he stood to the side and watched the town pass him by and rush off to their homes. As the last of the congregation passed him by, he fell in behind them, matching pace and staying alert. It wasn't far from the church, down the path to the village proper, and Warren could tell by the way that families were moving in and out of their homes, or congregating around the doors, that something was amiss. Upon closer, but circumspect, examination, he could see that more than one of the homes have had varying levels of damage done to the doors and frames, and one house had smoke pouring out of the open door. The man of the house emerged carrying a large cauldron billowing smoke from some overdone meal. The soldiers had been through here, that much was certain, and they were neither gentle nor subtle about their work. The thought occurred to Warren than perhaps the homes with the greater damage somehow correlate with how much of a troublemaker the occupants are. That is the kind of thing that he might overhear at the Inn, if he paid attention. The messenger :April 19 1220 Warren followed the thinning crowd as they went through the town, a few peeling off here and there as they arrived at their homes. With each reduction, Warren noted who lived where, and more importantly, who was continuing towards the old road. After picking out the few faces and people that he would most benefit from associating with, he decided it would be best to let Brother Marcus know that he's like to meet. Setting down at one of the tables in the Inn, he took a piece of parchment and writing tools and scratched a quick note to Marcus: He knew that, because Marcus was in the company of mages last night, he might be under the eye of the bishop, so he had to be a bit surreptitious. He hoped that Phaedrus' name had not become well known amongst the searchers, but some things could not be helped. He took the quarter sheet and rolled it carefully, securing it with a small piece of twine. He stepped over to the door and called out to the first urchin he saw - apparently this child was still awaiting his meal - probably burned to a crisp. With a copper coin, and the promise of another from Brother Marcus, he sent the boy on his way to the church and to find the good Brother. It didn't take Warren long to figure out that the houses whose occupants had been found absent from the service had been thoroughly searched; more as an example to the other villeins, serfs, etcetera, than because they were more likely to be hiding the demon. The inn did not look like it had been touched, from a cursury glance around the main room, however, several of the nearby buildings had obviously recieved a thorough searching, though not punitively ransacked. There was almost noone else in the inn alongside Warren and the innkeeper. Most of the staff had returned to their homes to secure their doors, and check what, if anything, was missing. While Warren supped, he went about sweeping up the old reeds with a broom of birch twigs, and then smothered the cobbles with some that were freshly cut. By the ransacked cottage :April 19 1220 The bailiff watched Marcus approach with a look that seemed to say "Oh no, not again." He was about to preempt Marcus's questions about the locations of sundry belongings, the possibility of dispensation for damage to property, and what chance there was of the knights returning. When Marcus offered to help him, his face softened considerably. "Certainly. When you next write a report to the Bishop there, you can tell him how helpful we've all been. Failing that, you could go round and offer a bit of comfort to the folk around here. Remind them that they've been saved from a horror of hell itself." "About that horror," Marcus crossed himself, "do you know more about it? Whence it came and whither it is bound, perhaps?" "I can't claim to know about such things. Thieves, poachers, debtors, and worse are my concern, but such horrors as I've heard talk of today could rightly have crawled from the bowels of hell, the bottom of a bottle, or the depths of someone's imagination for all I know. If it was a servant of the devil, then no doubt it was drawn here by some ill deed. Now that the game is up, I hear they took off north, like, toward Sarop, and with all them soldiers, I daresay there's plenty of misdeeds there to take its fancy." As he waited for the monk to respond, he openly regarded the man, trying to judge how he had taken his words. Marcus nodded sagely, "Aye where there is an army there is ample work for the Deciever." Marcus exerted his non inconsiderable charm to bring the conversation around to other subjects and after a few moments of idle chitchat, he brought up the subject of the Mynd. "I've an urge to go up the Mynd and see what I can see; it may be that my bretheren and I will want a place to build a home." He was careful not to specify which bretheren he spoke of, but was happy to let the bailiff assume he meant monastic brothers. What precautions should I take if I were to be gone for a day or two?" "Well, the weather seems fine for sleeping outdoors, but it does get a bit chilly up there in the open. Keeping a fire lit can be a bit of a problem when the wind gets up. Normally, the only folk up there are the shepherds, and folk using the Portway." "Using the Portway to what end?" Marcus interjected. "What end? Why, the shepherds drive their flocks up toward the markets by the Portway, and many folk use the old road as it is right handy for some I'd say." "Ah, foolish question. But about precautions ..." "Well, folk are usually fine up there in the summer." the bailiff continued "There are some queer old things to be found up there: as though people lived there once, and left nought but their graves to show for it. They say not to go near the graves at night, but then no sensible man disturbs the dead after sundown. You stick to the Portway, like all the other travellers, and you'll be fine." "Thank you," Marcus shook his head thoughtfully, "Does anyone still live up there?" "Up there? Aye, til three year back, when I got dragged up there in the middle of the night to see about a blazing fire. Folk could see it clear up and down the vale, and some folk thought it were a beacon, or the Welsh. All manner of stories were flying by the time I set off with some of my men. When we finally got up there, the blaze was pretty much out, the shepherd had died within, and there was no telling what had happened." "The poor soul," Marcus crossed himself piously. "What of other lodgings hereabouts, I've heard tell of a hut in the village?" "Aye, it's down toward the old road. Single room, nought within except a fireplace. You can go down and have a look if you like. You'll know it when you see it... there are no shutters nor doors, as I took them down to discourage vagrants and more unseemly goings on. If you take the place, I'll send someone down with them." "Perhaps I shall, it would be rented from the laird, I assume," said Marcus. "That's near the Potters Field isn't it? it isn't, I'll give a different segue. - it isn't. The potters field is down past Little Stretton... I've heard some strange things about that place already. It is said that none dare linger there for long, especially after dark." The sheriff nodded gravely. "It doesn't do to be disturbing the rest of the dead. I've sent the odd person their for burial in the past when the occasion warranted it, but I can't say I've been there. You wouldn't find me in any graveyard after dark, without a strong reason." "Like that poor child, wait ... was it not a child from that same hut who died and whose father left? Where did the father go, do you know?" "Yes, he has moved back into his parent's cottage. He lived there until his marriage, so I understand that they can happily accomodate him." The bailiff's face settled from contained anger to solemnity as he replied. "The poor man finds the new home brings back too many memories right now, and refuses to dwell there alone. I daresay that the laird would be willing to let you reside there in exchange for services or a reasonable quantity of such things as he has need of." Marcus looked away and then back, "The bishop's men have been ... thorough. Is it indelicate to ask how things stand with them and the laird?" "What? The bishop and his knights? They normally leave matters to those folk as they concern. The bishop normally has his hands full chasing around after the heathens who still worship their old gods up in the hills. Now that he's had a right rummage around the manor house, I dare say he'll find the welcome short and shrift in future. The Lord's always paid proper respect to the church, and while chasing this fiend might well be urgent work, the bishop has fairly thrown his weight around today." The bailiff sounded irritated as he snapped back his reply, boldly declaring his thoughts as though he cared not if they found their way back to the lofty office of the bishop. "Indeed, the bishop seems most vigorous in his pursuit of the, ah, heathens," Marcus said. "They are still to be found up the hills, then?" "So it is said," the bailiff replied "but the Mynd seems to be free of them, and of that I am glad. I've had that area patrolled many times, but seldom anyone to be seen." In the manor courtyard :April 19 1220 He had learnt from the servants that the bishop and lord had requested food, and were thus likely to be occupied for some time. When Marcus left the hall, and began to make his way back across the courtyard, he was approached by a grubby looking lad, who shot the monk a big, happy, expectant grin, and produced the folded note from within the confines of his shirt. He proferred the note eagerly, and then stood with a hand outstretched, still grinning enthusiastically, though wordlessly, at the monk. Diarmait wandered up from where he had been loitering, leaning against a wall and cleaning his nails with a knife. he grinned at Marcus. He grinned again. The day was proving quite entertaining so far today. Marcus offered the lad some of his bread and sent him on his way. He regarded the note with some curiosity, then opened it and read it. "I think," he said, "perhaps we should walk to the Inn." Continued Next page: The day wears on. ---- Category:1220 1220Q2 12200419 Category:Marcus Category:Diarmait Category:Warren